The cold northern lands were a frozen wasteland hostile to all life, gripped by an unrelenting, life-draining frost.
In this bleak, cursed land, painted eternally in shades of gray by the swirling blizzard, a man had fallen.
Where his right arm should have been, a crimson stain marred the snow. His left eye socket was a dark, empty hollow.
This man was Volgarr, one of the eight great barbarian chieftains, now bleeding out his last moments
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